Return of The Dragon Slayers
by Fiori75
Summary: Magic is not all that it seems, so much has been lost, and so much has been hidden. Yet one boy stands on the cusps of bringing something wondrous back to the world. With a fire in his heart and an Adventure to plan, Young Harry Potter shall make those that came before him proud. He shall wear the title of Dragon Slayer, and he shall bring forth an new age to a stagnate world.
1. Chapter 1

It was strange, the things that go through ones head in the face of impending doom. In the case of young Harry James Potter, he could only wonder why he thought the dragon would be more impressive. Sure the Hungarian Horntail was a large and intimidating sight, at fifty feet long, with its jet black scales, bronze horns, and deadly spiked tail. Yet to Harry there was something missing, something that he felt was crucial for it to have for him to even consider the beast before him a dragon. But then again even if the Horntail was missing something, it looked like she could still kill him dead if she wanted to, and that would be counterproductive to him winning this whole tournament. Sure he only got in on a technicality, but really he wasn't complaining he intended to win this whole damn thing. After all he had tried to enter on his own merits, hoping that crumpling the paper and throwing it in would work out for him.

That was probably why people had been unwilling to believe that he hadn't tampered with the cup somehow and cheated his way into the tournament.

But if the whole school turned on him, it was no big deal… well it did hurt when Gryffindor turned their backs on him, but he could manage. He'd done crazier things with a grin on his face, just ask the troll, Fluffy, Quirrelmort, Aragog, the Basilisk, and the hoard of Dementors. Those had been adventures he'd been proud of. Challenges that had pushed him to the very limit of his ability, and brought out more and more of him in order to conquer them. Harry had loved every second of it, much to his friends' horror, and now here stood a new challenge to push him even further. This dragon wasn't going to do what any of the other beasties he'd gone up against couldn't. He'd figure this out and walk away with a satisfied grin on his face… Right after he came up with a better plan than "_running away and not dying in a fire_."

Really, it was the only sensible plan he had at the moment since his other plan of "_charge it and kill it with your fists_" was stupid, reckless, and suicidal.

_'Not that I haven't been accused of being any of those things before_,' Harry thought as he ran for cover, barely escaping the gout of flames sent his way. _'But, come on, even I know that I can't do that here. This thing isn't Dudley_.' Harry thought furiously as he hid behind the rock, waiting for the gout of flames to die down so he could run for the next bit of cover, though he was briefly reminded of the very first time he socked his cousin in the face, and then having to fend of his gang of friends. Harry had discovered something that day, two things really, that he was much better at fighting than a group of six large bullies, and that adrenaline thrilled him. Even now with a dragon bearing down on him with flames, tooth, claw, and tail, Harry was quickly finding this to be one of his more exciting adventures.

Then the rock turned red hot and started to melt, forcing him to risk the flames, or die as both molten rock and fire killed him. It was a calculated risk he took by throwing a rock to the left, the movement catching the dragon's eyes, and thus her head turned towards what she thought was Harry breaking cover. The flames of course followed, letting Harry dash to the right and find cover behind yet another rock.

"Okay now, think Harry, what are your options?" He whispered to himself, ignoring the commentary of his running completely. _'Magic's an option but what could work on her?_' he thought as he peered out from his cover to look at the nesting dragon, only to have to scamper back as she caught sight of him, and once more released a gout of flames in his general direction. _'Not much, not much at all really… well maybe my Patronus could distract her_.' Harry thought idly as he considered what spells he knew.

_'Or I could just charge in and punch her in the throat,_' a rebellious part of his brain thought, which again made absolutely no sense to Harry's conscious mind.

That small distraction delayed him enough that he realized that he had to move again, lest he get killed by molten rock. Throwing another rock to the side he waited for the fire to follow it, but was rather surprised when the flames went left instead of right. _'Well, that can't be good,'_ Harry thought as he followed after the rock, barely dodging as the mother dragon's tail whipped towards him, the spikes digging a trail into the rocks as he hurried to find cover, all the while he had to keep telling himself that running away from the 5 tons of death was the smart thing to do rather than running towards it.

'_Though considering how often that's worked in the past… No, this is different, Harry. You don't have a sword like with the Basilisk, or friends at your back like with the troll, just your wits and wand… Damn it, now charging sounds like a good idea!_' Harry mused as he finally managed to find suitable cover, though it was a little closer than he'd like, the commentator seemed to think he was trying to stealthily make his way to the egg and win the match without casting a single spell.

'_Okay, just calm down, Harry. Think happy thoughts, fun thoughts. Like that time I punched Uncle Vernon in the dangly bits when he tried to take a cricket bat to my face for breaking Dudley's nose, or that time I caught the snitch in my teeth after falling off my broom, or the dueling club when I got to break Draco's arm to disarm him and Snape couldn't do a thing! Now go out there and fight that dragon…' _"Dammit!" Somehow or another in his attempt to find a good memory to channel his Patronus into, Harry had instead managed to pump himself up and was now more than ready to try the whole '_suicidal charge_' plan he'd come up with earlier. Even if his conscious mind knew that it was a bad idea, his instincts kept on telling him to go for it, and while usually he was inclined to listen, this was one of the few times he'd actually been able to think whilst in a life or death situation, and all his knowledge told him that the plan would lead to his death.

Thus Harry once more settled into trying to find a happy thought capable of conjuring a Patronus to distract the dragon so he could make a run for the egg. This time though he tried to focus less on the memories of him getting into a fight of some sort, which actually severely limited his list of happy thoughts. _'The night I save Sirius, conjuring up my Patronus for the first time, the sight of it laying into the Dementors and… the night Hermione started to fear me. Damn it!_' Harry cursed as his eyes caught sight of Hermione, reminding him of just why she had followed the crowd.

Hermione hadn't distanced herself from Harry over anything to do with the Tournament. Rather she had distanced herself from him because he unnerved her. At her core, Hermione was a peaceful person who often sought nonviolent solutions to conflict, her immediate go-to being to involve a teacher. Harry knew for a fact that actual violence scared the bookish girl, and Harry was far too comfortable on the battlefield for her. What happened next shocked Harry the core. Since he was comfortable with that which Hermione feared, that fear had started to attach itself to him. He'd overheard her in the hospital wing after everything had been over and done with on that night he'd lived twice, talking to Madam Pomphery. '_People shouldn't feel at home in a fight, people shouldn't seek conflict like that, and the way he acts sometimes, it's almost inhuman. Could there be something wrong with him, some side effect of the Dementors or maybe the curse You-Know-Who used?_'

It had hurt to know that the one of the people he thought could almost always count on to help him out had looked at him that way. More than that, he didn't know why she feared him for being himself? He'd always been the way he was. Just because his Patronus was capable of killing a few Dementors and was big and intimidating, didn't mean he was suddenly different. She was his precious friend, what could he possibly do to her?

_'Doesn't she know I would go to hell for her, for any of my friends?_' Harry thought quietly, almost forgetting the impending doom looming over him. Yet the sudden roar did wonders to remind him that he had a dragon to conquer.

Yet it was in his moment of melancholic distraction that Harry made a critical mistake. Not even throwing a rock or casting a spell, Harry dashed from his cover. Fire surprisingly didn't consume him, rather it was the dragon's forelimb that struck him. Luckily for Harry, the claws just barely missed him. Instead, he received what amounted to a slap as the palm of the dragon thundered into him. Flying like a ragdoll Harry was briefly aware of two things. The first was that the blow had forced him to drop his wand. But the second, and vitally more important fact, was that the dragon was inhaling deeply. It was quite the shock to Harry that he realized that it was over, the moment of his death was imminent. There would be no getting out of this, as soon as he collided with the ground, her fire would consume him.

He'd never see his friends again… but at least he'd finally get to meet his parents, right?

'_No!_' Harry resolutely thought, even as the ground started to grow closer. '_I don't want it to end like this! There's still so much I want to do, so much I haven't seen! I haven't ever left England, and there's a whole damn world out there and I am not ready to end this here! Voldemort couldn't kill me, the Basilisk couldn't kill me, Zeref couldn't kill me, and like hell will some shitty excuse for a dragon kill me!_' Harry thought as he tumbled across the rocky ground, somehow landing on his feet by means unknown to him, right as the dragon was about to let loose her breath. Harry was completely ready to move, to run for cover, but that is when something occurred to him. _'Who the hell is Zeref?!_'

If Harry hadn't been distracted at that critical moment, he would have very likely managed to dodge away from the flames, roll behind cover, and make his way to the egg as the nesting mother assumed that he hadn't survived. There he would have retrieved the egg and made a mad dash to the medical tent before collapsing. He would be treated and then receive a total of thirty-seven points for the sheer chutzpah of completing a task without casting a single spell. He would go on to be greeted by a sorrowful and heartfelt apology by Hermione and Ron, eventually winning the tournament and witnessing the death of Cedric Diggory and the second rise of Tom Marvolo Riddle A.K.A. Lord Voldemort, and eventually after a long drawn out conflict, that would cost many good people their lives, Harry James Potter would master the Deathly Hollows and conquer death herself to defeat the genocidal monster. Harry's sleeping power would remain just that, asleep, eventually growing so distant that Harry would have no hope of ever using it.

However, in this case, the flames smacked into him, the heat blistering his skin and destroying his clothing. Harry screamed the scream of dying agony as he could feel his feeble magic attempt to save him from the wrath of a dragon. Powerful though the barrier keeping him tied to the mortal coil was, it was quickly depleted and overpowered by the force present in a dragon's fire. His magic next to nothing, his core empty, save for the barest sliver of power Harry felt the oddest sensation, and a sudden desire.

His brain had always made the oddest connections between certain things. Such as Ice wasn't just cold, but also a pervert who really needed to learn to wear pants. Metal was hard and lightning was fast, but they were both dicks. Water soothing and wet, but was way too obsessed over ice. The sky vast and beautiful, but was also a cute kid. Giants, despite their size and power, were really short and often drunk. Strange things that always made no sense when he really thought about them. Just feelings he had towards certain things that could only be translated as he had. Yet the thing that had always drawn his curiosity was the connections he made with fire. Fire was more than just warm, but also fatherly, powerful, his strength, and most of all: _**tasty**_.

_'Well, I'm likely going to die anyway, so what'll it hurt? Might as well see why I think you're tasty!_' Harry thought in his semi-delirious state. And so with instincts long since buried, Harry began to inhale.

It was in that moment as an empty vessel, devoid of magic and desperate for survival, Harry reached out with those last tendrils of his magic and accomplished something that had last been seen over fifteen thousand years ago. The fire began to move in an unnatural fashion as it was absorbed into his lungs. Slowly at first, Harry realized that not only was he still alive, but that the fire no longer hurt as it should. But somehow more than his relief at surviving the impossible, Harry realized that the fire, still passing down his mouth and into his stomach was so completely and utterly…_delicious!_

'_More!_' he thought with a primal intensity, as his magic reacted to his desire, drawing in yet more of the precious immaterial ambrosia. Warming his body and curing his ails. He could feel his ribs, which he was sure had shattered into tiny little fragments, snap and mend. He could feel his exhaustion disappear as energy flooded into him. Most of all, his magic swelled and burned with energy he could hardly believe. While before he'd always had a sense that he had power locked up, now it felt as if he was practically brimming with power, and that power demanded to be used. And as the last of the fires around him were consumed he saw the perfect target for his ire.

The so-called dragon that stood before him, and this time he knew what she was missing.

Sapience.

The beast before him dared claim the title of dragon! No, he could not accept it. Something like her didn't deserve the title! Not when so many more worthy than she had worn it. In comparison, her fires were pitiful, her roars were mere squeaks, and her presence was that of a dog barking for scraps! She had no right to bare similarities to those that came before. And so He would tear her down, would show her what real fire felt like, what a real dragon roared like, and just what a Real Dragon's presence felt like. He could do that much for his father.

With his resolve renewed, Harry rose from the crater he'd landed in, he cared not for the gasps and murmurs that his survival caused. He cared not for the sharp intakes of breath that the audience breathed in surprise that reached his ear as he opened his eyes to the world, it was all just noise to him as he stood across from his foe. Gazing into her eyes Harry could almost pity her, but the rage he felt at her insult burned everything away as sure as a growl started to roll through his throat. A growl that was inhuman and growing in intensity, its deep scratchy baritone rolling through his throat until finally he released his rage in an unrepentant ROAR!

He could see it now, instinctive and animalistic though she was, the dragon understood now. He was no mere prey, no mere boy wizard to be slaughtered. Harry was a predator several sizes larger than her, and she had managed to annoy him. With a predatory smirk, Harry knew that he'd accomplished two of his goals, with a true roar his presence was known. Now he just had to show her what real dragon's fire was like.

He knew the crowd gasped as fires burst to life around him, he knew a few people screamed in terror, he could even hear that one lone voice inhale and breath out his name in fright. But as the true fires of a dragon gathered in his hand, all Harry could care about was the moment. The moment that he let loose and showed the world just what it had forgotten, just what he was. With a roar, Harry let the world know the name of his technique.

"_**Karyu no Tekken!**_" and as Harry's fire encased fist connected with the jaws of the nesting mother he could only think.

_'This'll be one hell of a fight!_'


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N. Okay so i know this bit is long in coming so I wont wast too much time... despite the fact that most of you wont read this till after the chapter. But here it is, my very own take on Harry being the reincarnation of a badass. course i actually have a legitimate reason for why Natsu has come back as he has and will explain it... much later. so have fun, i have made no money of of this, and still i post!**

Chapter Two

It had not been a particularly fun time for Hermione. Everything had fallen apart and she couldn't help but think that a small part of it was her fault, but in all honesty she couldn't help what she felt. She had known for years that Harry was off, that he acted wrong in various situations. After all eleven year old children don't often jump onto the backs of trolls, even to save another person. And even if they do, one would expect that they would be screaming in terror.

Harry didn't react like that. He'd laughed with glee, and peppered the head with blows from his elbow until he bled, his bones breaking from the attempt to hurt the beast, but even that hadn't stopped him from harassing the beast, a toothy grin showing off his too large canines. That moment had both scared and fascinated her, a boy who she thought couldn't stand her had rushed to her defense, and with no hesitation had thrown himself into a fight with a troll. But it was the last bit to the tale that caused the tiny seed of unease to be planted. After Harry had been thrown from the troll and Ron had cast the levitation spell, clubbing the beast with its own club, the troll had died. Somehow the damage from the club when combined with the damage Harry had caused to its skull ended with enough damage that the fragmented skull had shredded its brain. Meaning Harry, with just his elbow, had cracked and cratered the trolls rock-hard skull. An inhuman feat and not the last Harry would perform.

She knew Harry well enough to know that he'd left things out of his retellings of the Chamber. He was the type to fight when backed into a corner, and given a sword he'd use it. Ginny had confirmed that there were chunks of the Basilisk missing, rends in its hide, and there had been Harry, standing next to its corpse, great fang driven into his shoulder, standing with a blood soaked sword driven into the diary that had caused all the problems. Hermione imagined that it was the same grin that he'd worn when fighting the troll on his face.

The final straw had been the Dementors. Harry changed radically that year, and while part of her knew it was probably puberty, there was always something that watered that seed of fear about him. The lean muscles that he grew into, the ever-present heat radiating from his body, and then there were his eyes. Hermione had told herself that it had been tricks of the light, her mind playing tricks on her, but on that night when he conjured his Patronus she couldn't deny it. His eyes had changed from his expressive green to something else, a deadly reflective gold that evoked feelings of dread. And then there was the Patronus he'd conjured

She'd studied the charm when the Dementors had first appeared on the train. It was simply what she was good at, and she had learned of the charm that could ward them off. She also knew what it was _supposed_ to look like. Silver mist or a solid animal of some sort that would push the Demntors away, that's what most wizards got, but not Harry. A towering golden beast of fire and rage was what had left his wand, roaring with a pure magical force as it descended upon the wraiths doing what every book and scholar had declared impossible. At thirteen years old, with a Draconic Patronus that almost put the other dragons she'd seen to shame, Harry Potter had killed a Dementor. And when she had looked upon him, surrounded by those golden flames, his eyes the same color as fire, and a towering dragon acting as a shadow.

Hermione Granger had been utterly terrified.

After that things had been awkward for her, as she tried to put some small distance between herself and her best friend. Finally summer had rolled around and she could go home, and use the time away from him to figure out what was wrong with Harry. In part the fact that there was distance had helped, without him next to her the unease had lessened and she had even looked forward to seeing him at the world cup.

Yet the fear raised its ugly head again when the Death Eaters attacked. They'd been told to run, to escape the black clad figures that delivered curse after curse. She had gladly taken the chance to get away from the death they reveled in. Harry however had to been all too eager to run _towards_ the combat. Even when his wand turned up missing he'd been seconds away from rushing into battle with naught but his own two hands, Arthur Weasley had to stun the black haired youth to keep him from running onto the battlefield.

Twice.

The first blast of red spell fire had staggered the boy, and once more Hermione saw Harry's eyes turn that same golden color of a predator. He had stumbled forward, determined to take to the field, and it was only thanks to the second stunner bolt that he had gone down at all. Arthur had laughed about it, tried to devalue it, told her that it happens every now and again, some weird innate ability people had, something to do with accidental magic. When Hermione had asked about the eyes, the eldest Weasley had tried to dismiss it as a trick of the light. Just as she had long ago, she knew better now. And so she had avoided her friend, his inhuman nature scaring her more than anything had ever scared her.

The tournament had both helped and hindered her goal. Harry had been crazy again, doing something so very insane to enter into the tournament. Yet in a way he'd been brilliant, can't pass the age line? Don't bother, just crumple that piece of paper with your name on it up, and toss it in like a game of basket-ball. Hermione had half expected him to be Hogwarts sole champion. Then the cup had spat out his name as a fourth contestant, and the entire school had turned on him.

And now he was dying.

She'd known as soon as he entered the arena, it was simply impossible. Harry, as strong and powerful a wizard as he was, had no hope of fighting the dragon. Not how he usually fought things, and worse, Harry had seemed to know it too. He hadn't charged as he so casually did with all the other threats he'd faced down before, he'd dodged behind cover and run from the fires and limbs the dragon had sent his way. Crazily enough his strategy even seemed like it might work. Some part of her believed that Harry could do this, best the first task with absolutely no magic, the same way he'd bested the troll, and the same way he had bested the protections of the goblet. But as he hid behind the third boulder their eyes met for a brief instant before he moved again.

Hermione's heart caught in her throat when he stepped out of cover. He'd thrown no rocks as distractions. He'd cast no spells to aid him. And so he had absolutely no hope to dodge the limb that struck him head on. Helplessly she watched from the stands, a single face amongst many who would watch a hero die, as her best friend sailed through the air. Harry tumbling about in the air like a feather, without any form of control, until he finally hit ground feet first by some miracle. She thought he would run from there, prayed that he would dodge back into cover, yet something had stopped him. Harry had hesitated for a split second, and that was all it took Hermione to lose him forever. The fires of a dragon consumed him, and she could hear him scream in pain, see his form drop to his knees as fire relentlessly raged around him. She had called his name them, the barest whimper of desperation. A silent plea for something, anything to save him.

That is when things stopped reacting according to any form of logic. She saw Harry silhouette, what she could make of it blackened by flame, open his mouth. Somehow inhaling, or at least doing something that looked like inhalation. It was an impossibly long inhalation, and should have killed him instantly, the heat causing his lungs to collapse, to say nothing of what the fires should have done to his internal organs. Yet somehow, Harry survived.

Impossibly the very action that should have killed him, saved him. As Harry consuming the fires that surrounding him, Hermione watched on with an eerie fascination. Incapable of looking away, the brightest witch of her age watched the impossible. As the fires of a dragon were consumed, fires capable of ripping through wards and enchantment, her brain provided. She watched them slowly be consumed by her friend, leaving Harry still kneeling there upon the rocks. His eyes closed and his body covered in soot and ash. To the great shock of the on looking crowd, he slowly stood. The tatter remnants of his robes flaking off, leaving him clad only in tattered and singed pants. Somehow the lower half of his robes had survived and now billowed around his waist like a mantle. As Hermione thanked whatever god drew amusement out of her friend's life, Harry opened his eyes. Just like at the end of last year, when Harry had faced the Dementors, there was no denying what she saw.

Harry's eyes were the fiery golden eyes of a predator, simultaneously inhuman and unfeeling yet deadly and full of passion. Those inhuman eyes gazed out from an all too human figure, locked upon another with eyes just like his. It was a cold detached part of Hermione that realized that those strange orbs of gold were indeed the eyes of a dragon and that despite the fact that they really had no place upon a human form, those eyes seemed to fit Harry perfectly. Yet that part was swiftly ignored due to her friend's next action. Just as his eyes had no place upon his body, neither did any human have the right to vocalize their intent in the manner he did. It was slow, building from a growl in the back of his throat, yet it quickly built into an intense and inhuman ROAR.

It was a primal noise that echoed throughout the stadium and shook everyone to the very core of their beings; it spoke of rage, of power, of dominance and triumph. But above all it spoke of fire, and for the duration of the noise, Hermione saw it. Somehow his Patronus once more was called into the world, standing in his shadow, and roaring with him, echoing and reverberating his intentions through her very soul in an impossible fashion that made her want to beg and scrape to avoid the simple truth that she was so much smaller than the predator that stood before her. She knew for a fact that it lasted not but three seconds, but it seemed to last so much longer than that. Once it ended Harry stood there, somehow pleased with himself despite the fact that several people had lost control of their basic bodily functions. There he stood simply looking upon the dragon, and that was when Harry delivered one last shock that her mind simply couldn't handle, with an ease that somehow spoke of long practice, Harry gathered fire to his hands that sprung to life impossible for any human wizard to achieve.

It was simply too much for the fourteen year old witch, so many shocks and impossibilities one right after another. Her mind, a fortress of logic and order could not process this new and impossible information. All Hermione could do was utter a shocked gasp of her friend's name. Yet as her mind blanked and her body succumbed to its desire to pass out, one last thing was heard before she truly lost all contact with the waking world.

It was utterance of intent and power. The first of many her friend would make. But it was so much more than that. If anyone was capable of noticing it, his words were a call, to all those sleeping legends long since thought dead. A call to those lost and forgotten. To those who would be again.

They were the words that called for the end of an age, and the first words of the age that would rise from the ashes. Words that had once been known the world over, yet in the passing of time they had faded from the annals of history. Becoming first a legend, then a myth, all before being forgotten, like so much else. They were the words of a warrior, a wizard… and an unrepentant blight on property values.

They were the words of a dragon.

**"_Karyuu no Tekken!"_**

123

Harry barely felt it when his fist made contact with the underside of the dragon's chin. His fires giving him a strength beyond what he ever thought possible, yet the results spoke for themselves. For not even a second after his flame engulfed fist made contact did the dragon's body rise into the air from the explosive force he'd delivered directly to its chin. Higher and higher it rose until the chain wrapped round its neck went taunt. Yet even that was not enough to stop the momentum and force that had been applied to it, with an ear rending *crack* the chain broke free if the rocks it had been bound to. His eyes noted that upon being uprooted; the chain still had bits of hardened earth clinging to its end. The length of magically wrought steel danced in the air at breakneck speeds, yet it was clear it trailed after the air born dragon. And it wasn't hard for him to see the space the rocks attached to the end of the chain would soon pass through.

To many present this all happened so fast that it was barely perceptible. It was only those rare few who'd been forced to grown accustom to the speed of spell fire that had and chance to reasonably track the movements of the boy, the chain, and the dragon. To Harry however, everything had slowed down and he could see _everything_! The chain that would have struck any normal person dead, it's force and speed making it far too deadly for any normal person to dodge. Luckily Harry had never been 'normal'. Before he could have dodged it, just barely, but it would have been capable for his above average seeker reflexes. Now however, it was just another opportunity.

Impossibly Harry caught the end of the wildly dancing chain by its end, and then he _heaved_! His muscles rippled with effort as he swung the chain, and in turn the dragon attached to the end of it like a flail. His face locked in a predatory grin as the beast crashed back into the ground, cratering it more than anything in the whole tournament had done so far. With savage glee he pulled on the chain, but not to bring the dragon to him, rather he used the chain and his arms to launch himself at it. The fires he could so easily command springing alive around his legs as he added more force to what was to come.

The dragon had barely recovered when his foot met with its face, and once more words echoing forth from his mouth, a declaration of what he was, and what his attacks meant on a level that no other person at the stadium could ever understand.

**_"Karyuu no Kagizume!"_** the explosion of force that he produced sent the dragon flying once more, but this time it had been braced. Savage as it was, it understood that he wasn't going to stop. He would kill it, and if it wanted to survive it needed to fight back. The tail it sent colliding into Harry was proof enough of that.

On his part as he was sent flying back by a tail lash, one that was just inches short of impaling him, Harry was oddly satisfied by the fact that his foe was at least trying to fend him off. It wouldn't stop him from killing the _fake _dragon for its insults, for invading his territory as thoroughly as it had. But he could respect it a bit more before he killed it. In fact Harry could feel some small amount of pity for it, but in the end its insults had been too numerous for his now very primal mind. Yet as he crashed bodily into the walls of the arena, a distant part of him was still wide eyed and confused over the course of events, first he was about to die, now he was going to kill the dragon as sure as he drew breath.

And he was loving every second of it.

As the minor wyrm drew breath to unleash fire upon him he realized that such things could wait until much later, he had a pretender to the title of dragon to kill first, and while he wouldn't mind the snack, now was a perfect time to demonstrate the difference between a mere beast that only gained its name due to a resemblance, and one who was truly worthy a worthy heir to the title of Dragon.

As the Horntail breathed forth the fires that it was born with, Harry too breathed out the fires gifted to him.

**"_Karyuu no Hōkō!" _**It had been hasty and poorly prepared, his fire barely directed and unfocused to a very scary degree by standards he barely understood. And the Horntails fire didn't stand a ghost of a chance compared to his own meager _attempt_. The primordial forces met briefly in the center of the arena, the immaterial element pushing against one another as the magic fueling the streams fought for dominance. For only an instance the streams halted, all before Harry's consumed the other and forced the combined might of both streams directly into the mouth of the still breathing Horntail.

The Hungarian Horntail was supposed to be the most dangerous dragon known to man, it's fires the hottest, the farthest reaching, it's scales tough enough to shrug off even an entire barrage of killing curses, and for all that, as the fires raced into it's still gaping maw, it had no chance to survive. It couldn't do as Harry had done when it came to fire, could not consume what it was born to for more strength. All the Horntail could do was die in agony as the fires it had called started to burn it from the inside out. Harry once more almost felt pity for it as his and its own fires ripped its innards apart, but once more he couldn't bring himself to truly care for it, after all the insults it had _dared_ heap up against him, the only thing he could bring himself to do was end its suffering.

To the audience it was barely a second that passed before he was in front of the dying dragon once again. His hand ablaze once more and his eyes locked upon the dragon's breast. Once more he called out the name of his attack, one last call of, **_"Karyuu no Tekken!" _**and just like that the beast was dead, his hand driven into its chest, and its lifeblood spilling out over him, bathing his half naked form in blood that was boiling from the heat that tore it apart. With a deadly surety he pulled his hand from the chest cavity that those experienced with dragons could have told you held the beast's heart. Within a few more seconds the once terrifying dragon was dead at the feet of Harry James Potter.

The boy in question was sporting a grin on his blood and soot soaked face, pleased with himself like never before. He wasn't quite sure what had happened to him, wasn't sure how he knew how to do what he now could, but some part of him knew that it was the most natural thing in the world. More so it had been the missing part of his nature that he hadn't even known was missing. And as he stood there in the center of the arena, he was overcome by yet another desire. Similar to the names he had called and actions he took as he cried out the names of his spells somehow knowing that he spoke with an authority greater than any of those spells taught in Charms or Defense. Harry felt that this was the only acceptable thing to do after he had accomplished what he had.

So knowing that it was the right thing to do, he raised his right arm towards the sky, his index finger and thumb extended while the rest of his hand clenched into a light fist. His palm was facing forward with the rest of his body, and as he did so, Harry whispered a Name, something that meant more to him than anything he could ever remember, something that was profound and wonderful. Two words that the world needed to hear. Two words that had been buried by history and two words that would bring forth so much more than the young man could ever comprehend.

"Fairy Tail."

**A.N.2:**

**Now I know some of you will complain about bother Hermione's actions and Harry's but I want you all to trust me on Hermione as i need to make things complicated and push the story forward. My belief is that canon!Hermione is actually not very violent or aggressive/confrontational, and it was Harry and Ron that pushed her into it. However in this Harry was an aggressive little hell raiser from the start and it scared her. the end.**

****As for the fight with the dragon. I wanted it to be long epic and totally wreck the arena. Then I thought about it and realized that one of J.K. Rowling's dragon's didn't stand a chance against the weakest of Fairy Tail mages, let alone a dragon slayer. As for Harry's actions, i want you all to understand he was acting on pure instinct and absolutely no rational thought.  
><strong>**

****Still I thought it all appropriate and entertaining, but what do I know i just write things, so tell me what you think and REVEIW!****


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

**AN: Okay so here it is, chapter three. I hope you all like it, both the way I portrayed certain characters and how I view the reincarnation cycle that no doubt most of you have figured this story revolves around. If you haven't figured out that this story revolves around reincarnation, go read more asian literature and come back when you have a firm grounding in what it means to have a past life.**

**So with out further ado, I don't own Harry Potter, Other wise... well what can i say other than it would not have been a kids book.**

**123**

Violence. Sheer unadulterated violence on a scale that could be scarcely be believed. That was the only way to describe the current spectacle. Harry Potter was dealing out bloody violence upon a dragon, and he was currently winning. It was a feat of power, magic, and skill that not a single of the other champions could have ever achieved even if they had tried. It was an unbelievable sight that was forever seared into the memories of every person watching. It would become a tale for the ages, retold with more grandeur and grace each time. The sheer horror of the tale would be glossed over, and eventually it would be just another story. But to Ablus Dumbledore, it was one of the most disgusting things he had ever had the misfortune to see.

Deep at heart Albus was a peaceful man, at least he like to think he was one. He had never been fond of destruction, or death, especially when it was dealt out by the hands of others. At one hundred and thirteen years old he had seen more than his fair share of messy ends. His father, his sister, and all the poor souls he had to fight through to end the threat Gellert had become. So many deaths weighed on his conscience, and sadly he suspected there would be quite a few more before he met his end. Chief amongst them would be poor Harry if his suspicions were correct. To stop yet another Dark Lord, the poor boy would likely have to die, yet he hoped that it would be a mutual destruction, and from what he could see that was getting to be a likely outcome.

The one and only bright side he could see out of Harry's new power, was that it was a far more concrete and wieldable power, than the power of love. For while love was something he knew, and understood could inspire people to perform feats of sacrifice and valor, it was not something that could be wielded as casually as Harry now wielded his new found power. Love was a driving force that allowed people to put other before themselves, but in all his research it had only proven to be a motivator for sacrifice, as it would doubtlessly be in Harry's final clash. Yet from all he had learned, it had no strategic power on its own. No, from what Albus had seen, it would be the fires that allowed Harry to stand equal to Voldemort.

The problem Albus knew however was in Harry himself, he was a head strong boy that would struggle against his death until the bitter end. Through all the trials Albus had watched him survive, he had seen a spark within Harry that refused to be extinguished. Had the situation been any different Albus would have been proud to know such a person, someone who would struggle to carry on despite the odds. However the distressing part was the sheer lengths Harry would go through in his struggles.

His first hint had been the standoff Harry and the Voldemort possessed Quirrel had within the final trial when the boy had been but eleven. Most other first years would have been hopelessly out matched and capable of survival only due to pure luck, and perhaps a bit of arrogance on the part of the elder wizard. Any other child would have cowered in fear, maybe the braver ones would have found some petty way to be defiant. It was nigh impossible for a barely trained child to defeat a fully trained wizard in a contest of magic. Harry however didn't even try. The boy had done the unthinkable and charged Quirrel, his fists drawn back in preparation for a mighty punch. It was a suicidal tactic that should have been doomed to failure, but because of arrogance, luck, and a mother's self-sacrificing love, it had worked in Harry's favor.

The first blow to the older man's crotch had been due to surprise and luck. Something caused because of an expectation within both Quirrel and Voldemort, a belief that all forms of combat happened at range, but because Harry had chosen the suicidal tactic of closing the distance rather than making it, he was able to land that critical blow. It only took that instant as the man reacted as all men do when punched in a place so full of nerve endings, for Harry's next action to be effective enough to kill him. It was a simple thing that wouldn't have killed any other man had the circumstances been different, had Voldemort not been possessing him the blow Harry did to Quirrels head would have dazed him, maybe even knocked him out. But because of Lily's protection placed upon the young boy, and because of the specter within his body, Quirrel had died a painful death. And Harry had watched him die.

Naturally, as an eleven year old boy who had never really seen death, Harry had vomited at the grisly spectacle.

It was only because Harry had reacted as horrified as he had that Albus had not begun to suspect that he had another Dark Lord in the making. But even with the death of Quirrel engraved in his mind, Harry had continued forward, meeting all his challenges head on, and a growing skill for violence. The blood and venom soaked sword of Gryffindor was just one other such testament to Harry's skill, and there were more beside.

Now a dragon lay dead before him, and he was smiling all the while, Albus didn't know what to think any longer. Part of him was horrified that a boy of fourteen was capable of such things, both the power that allowed him to do such a thing, along with his willingness to take such actions if pushed. It was a part of Albus that wondered, could Harry become every bit as dangerous as Voldemort? It took a team of wizards to subdue a dragon, Harry alone had shown he was capable of killing the most dangerous of their breeds. Another part of him prayed that this was the answer to ending a blood war. With the power Harry now held, so different than anything he, Albus Dumbledore, had seen and powerful enough to enable a child to face down a dragon alone, could Harry now meet the self-styled lord Voldemort as an equal on the field of battle? And if he could, who would win, the dragon slaying fire, or the malevolent dark arts? Yet curiously there was another part that had become fascinated by what the magic Harry used could mean for the whole world. Not in all his years had he seen such a feat of magic, nor had any book he'd read mentioned power such as Harry had displayed. Could others learn it? Could that idyllic world he had dreamed of oh so long ago be achieved with such power? Only time would tell which side of him would win out in the end.

Fear, hope, or curiosity.

123

It couldn't have been more than ten minutes after Harry's final and deadly blow to the mother dragon, and already he had made his way to the hospital tent that all the champions were required to head towards after the task was finished. But for the life of him, Harry wasn't quite sure how he'd even managed to get from the middle of the arena, to the tent where Madam Pomfrey worked like a mad woman to tend the injuries of the champions. In fact, he was still trying to figure out just what it was he had even managed to do out there in the arena. It was strange to him, for while he was aware of what he had done on an intellectual level. The sheer act itself was a struggle to comprehend on a level more to his speed. The realization that he could even manage to kill the (_false_) dragon the way he had somehow rebelled against everything he knew. Stranger still was that he felt he could do it all again… against all four of the dragons at once if need be. Harry felt powerful and confident, and above all proud, yet for reasons that didn't make a lot of sense to him. Truth be told it was one of the stranger experiences he'd been involved in. And when one considered why he usually wound up under Madame Pomfrey's care, that was saying something.

There was also a brief feeling upon his tongue, not even a conscious thought really, merely the after taste from a good meal. The consuming thing was that this feeling was about how good the fire had tasted and felt as it passed into his stomach/lungs (He wasn't quite sure which really). That memory however just seemed to agitate Harry more. Everything he had spent the last four years learning told him that what he'd done was impossible, that while a wizard could conjure up fire, sometimes even without a wand, none could do it as he just had. To him it was as if the fires had come alive, wieldable in a fashion that boggled him. Yet even now in his confused and slightly delirious state, he could feel it. Deep within the core of his being there was a fire burning, simply waiting for him to call, and waiting to be used once more.

Frowning at that realization, Harry could not help but look upon his hands. Hands that were covered in blood, soot, and callouses. They were the same hands he'd always had, but somehow the new knowledge that he could conjure fire into them as simple as breathing, and rip through dragon scales like paper with little effort changed them. If he'd been anyone else, suddenly gifted power such as this, a period of panic was a very realistic expectation. To Harry however, he couldn't help but be struck by how it all seemed natural. Calling the fires had come as easily to him as breathing. Stranger still the knowledge of his strength somehow seemed like a forgone conclusion. After all he was Igneel's one and only son, it was expected that he be at least this strong.

_'Wait, that's not right, my dad was James Potter, who the hell is Igneel?'_ Harry suddenly realized, and in that moment it suddenly came to him just how very out of character every single thing he'd done during that fight was. _'I killed that dragon. I can understand not wanting to die, but she didn't ask to be out there either. Why the hell would I even do that?'_ no sooner had the thought crossed his mind that some distant and animalistic part of his mind conjured up an answer. The impressions he got was that somehow or another he'd been insulted, enough that he had no other recourse but to respond. Not only that, there was the breach into his territory, even now others sat within, false wyrms that had not been penalized their invasion. Most of all was the simple fact was that the (_false_) dragon had tried to kill him. Any one thing would have driven him to violence, all three together, demanded death!

_'But that doesn't make any sense!' _the logical side of his brain argued,_ 'I just had to get the egg, and then it would have been over, so why didn't I?'_ the thought continued.

It was as he sat there trying to muddle through everything he felt he'd done wrong, that the adrenaline and endorphins of the battle finally began to wear away. It was then that he was struck by something else entirely. It was dull at first, but the more time passed, the louder it got. A dull repetitive thumping sound, steady and strong, almost like a drumbeat, but not quite. And the longer it went on, the more Harry became aware of it. Slowly looking up from his hands he focused upon the sound and tried to find its source. It was during his intense focus upon the disjointed drumbeat, that Madam Pomfrey finally had the chance to approach him. Displaying her shock at his condition as she spoke to him. However, when the words passed from her lips and into the air, she almost deafened him.

"GOOD HEAVENS POTTER, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?" she exclaimed.

It was with the same objectivity that Harry used to note the injuries he sustained mid battle, which noted that despite the deafening tone he perceived it to be, somehow Pomfrey was actually speaking in her customary soft, yet stern voice. Despite this however, to his own ears it was as if she had shouted directly into his ear whilst under the effect of the **_sonorous charm._** Reflexively he grabbed his ears and inhaled deeply in a harsh gasp of pain. Yet, no respite from pain was found in his actions, rather, a new curiosity began to overwhelm the senses of the last Potter. As the air passed through his nose, he became suddenly, and acutely aware of every single scent within range. The strongest scent by far, was the smoky smell of burnt flesh coming from his right, accompanied by a scent that his brain attached to the image of Cedric Diggory. There was also another similar scent to the first, smelling of fire and ashes, but different. _'Cloth, burnt cloth'_ his brain conjured. This particular smell however was accompanied by something that he found to be rather heady, yet aside from that he could not quite identify it, yet somehow it almost made him produce a rumbling growl of approval and desire.

The final two scents were much less demanding of his attention, he could smell a small amount of blood from one of them, but his brain quickly identified it as belonging to a (_false_) dragon, too much fire in it to belong to any normal human. The final scent was wholly Madam Pomfrey's own unique scent, something that vaguely reminded him of potions and disinfectant… and for some reason he could smell a faint aroma of lamb and peas coming from her breath.

"POTTER, WHAT IS THE MATTER, WHERE ARE YOU HURT?" she asked again, once more reminding Harry that someone had cast a widespread _**sonorous**_ on those around him, after all, why else would it sound like everything was held up to a megaphone.

"'M, fine. Too loud." Harry whispered, trying to ease the pounding in his head. Pomfrey only looked at him funny for his quickly whispered reply. That look made him realize how odd he must have sounded to the woman that Harry had come to know. For one thing he was covered in blood and soot, and he was currently saying he was uninjured while holding desperately to his head because he perceived the world to be shouting at him, along with producing a steady yet disjointed sound of several beating drums.

For another thing, he was Harry Potter. The boy who had earned his very own bed complete with a name plaque within her hospital wing.

To any competent doctor or healer the first half alone would have driven them to conclude that their patient was concussed. Thus the medi-witch went about her duty, muttering about stubborn fools, whilst under the assumption that Harry had slammed his head against a rock, and could not remember being injured. Which to be fair, had happened to Harry before… more than once actually. Thus she first needed to clean him up to find the source of his bleeding, then she could focus on his concussion. A quickly, yet quietly mutter _**scourgify**_… did absolutely nothing when it touched Harry's skin.

Harry was of course confused by this, and judging by the raised eyebrow so was Madam Pomfrey. Once more she cast the charm, and this time Harry was consciously aware of the power she'd fed into it. His skin shivered as the spell hit, but aside from that, nothing seemed to happen when the spell made contact with Harry's skin. Even the slight slight shudder running across his features, centered directly where her spell had made contact, was barely perceptible unless you were watching very carefully. The older witch, frowned as the spell yet again fizzled into nothing. Once more she muttered a word that sounded vaguely like analysis, while pointing her wand at him. As the spell hit, the medi-witch kept the length of mystically imbued wood pointed at him even after the spell seemed to have no effect. She simply stood there pointing her wand at him, with a look of extreme concentration upon her face, pouring more will into her spell… Before with a sudden jerk, the woman began flailing backwards a gasp of fright escaping her lips. In concern for her Harry asked,

"Madam Pomfrey, are you alright?"

123

(Seconds earlier)

Madam Pomfrey frowned as once more the _**scourgify** **charm**_ did nothing but fizzle out when meeting Harry's skin. Just as the first one had, leaving the boy still covered in the latest amount of grime he'd managed to accumulate whilst getting injured. However the spells failure had told her something this time, if the grime was merely magically resistant, Harry's skin would not have shuddered as it had. Meaning that her attempts at cleaning him had failed because of a rather uncommon condition. Which would force her to move onto the next viable course of action, a full diagnostic. Once more she pointed her wand at the dark haired teen and spoke the spell words, she then waited for the information to be fed directly to her brain, yet despite watching the spell make contact with him, and then maintaining the effort of will she had fed into the spell, her mind failed to conjure the specifics of what was wrong with the youngest champion.

Idly she recalled being informed that Harry had developed some manner of spell resistance over the summer. A resistance strong enough to need two stunner bolts cast by an adult wizard to put him down for the count, which while odd, was not an unheard of phenomena. Some people's magic never stopped reacting to a subconscious desire to be protected from harm, and it sometimes developed into a full blown talent for resisting foreign magical effects, add to that the fact that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, the only known survivor of the killing curse and it became expected that he have some form of passive resistance to magic. So she did what the Healers guide book said to when one encountered a patient with such a resistance. She fed more power and focus into the spell. Slowly but steadily she exerted more and more power into the charm, waiting to break through the skintight field that kept magic from working upon the boy. However, when the magic pierced through, and the information flooded into her, she became acutely aware of something.

Abject horror.

What else could one feel, but fear? Fear of the titanic Dragon currently sitting next to her, at one hundred and thirty two feet long and weighing somewhere in the neighborhood of seventeen tons, it was a vicious creature of fire and tyrannical majesty. An existence that could squash her with not, but a mere thought! Worse, it could even do away with her, by way of a casual absentminded gesture, no thought even required! In such a case it wouldn't even notice her death as anything more than the particular patch of ground it had stepped upon being stickier than the other patches. With perfect clarity, Pomfrey understood how very insignificant she was compared to it. Worse still was the Dragon knew that same fact with a clarity that was probably greater than hers. And that was the most frightening thing of all. Dragons were animals, yet the being before he was so much more than that. It gazed upon her with an alien intelligence greater than anything she had seen before. It turned its eyes upon her slowly, regarding her as a cat would a mouse, and with each passing second she could feel the heat emanating from it with every breath. Slowly it would boil her alive, all before gobbling her up like the lamb stew shed had that morning. It was enough for all thoughts to be halted within her head as she beheld the great being before her. She couldn't even breathe as its emerald eyes regarded her curiously, and then the unthinkable happened.

"Madam Pomfrey, are you alright?" the Dragon asked, and just like that it was as if a spell had been lifted. The Dragon was gone, and there in front of her was Harry Potter. His eyes were winced in discomfort, yet she could spot the concern on his face. A face that to her was shockingly like that of a dragons.

"It-it's nothing Mr. Potter." She said shakily, and once more Harry winced in pain as her voice cut through everything else. On her part Pomfrey had to double take as he one more shrank back from her, pain evident on his face. Yet despite the very large hiccup in her diagnostic charm, she had been given the knowledge that Harry was indeed nominally uninjured, save for a few bruised ribs and back. So what was causing him pain?

"Stop shouting at me." He said desperately, as his hands found his ear, cradling his head… and attempting to block out noise.

"Mr. Potter, what do you feel right now?" Her voice was whisper soft, barely audible and should have been near impossible for someone covering their ears as Harry was to hear clearly. Yet somehow Harry turned towards her and began answering.

"It's loud, like someone cast a _**sonorous**_ on the entire world. I can hear… everything in this tent. Every intake and outtake of breath you and the others make. And there's a… rhythmic thumping sound, but it's disjointed, like there's several of them going all at once... I think they're your heart beats." He explained softly. Pomfrey for her part Hid from her earlier fear behind the confused and understanding his explanation provided. The understanding was in regards to what was actually causing Harry discomfort, the confusion was of course over what could have caused such a change in Harry. Yet before she could asked Harry kept going, inhaling deeply through his nose he began to rattle off more. "And it's not just sounds, I can smell the blood on Krum, Cedric's burnt skin, and the charred cloth of Fleur's robes. I can even smell the lamb on your breath." It was the last part that brought her up short. Smelling out the other champions was one thing, especially in the sterile state of the little tent. But to smell what she had eaten for breakfast, hours ago? Added to his newly sensitive ears, along with the impression her diagnostic had given her, and she was slowly growing more and more worried for the young man.

"Is there anything else?" she asked, as quietly as possible. Harry for his part was very quiet, his hands finally coming away from his ears. His gaze was locked with the floor, a deep focus coming over him, Pomfrey was almost about to ask what was wrong, but before the first syllable had left her mouth, Harry burst into flame. Fire as hot as those she had felt in her head mere minutes ago. Yet despite the intensity of the fires, Harry was completely unaffected by them, in fact he looked comfortable, wreathed in a cloak of the primal element of destruction.

"There's this." Harry said as he stood from the bed, the fires moving with him, and just as suddenly as they had appeared, the fires disappeared. "Madam Pomfrey, what's happening to me?" the young dragon asked desperately, his fear evident in his voice. Yet despite this, the medi-witch could not answer. The shock of Harry's fire being too much for her, with fear still so fresh in her mind, seeing him use the element the titan in her mind had breathed was more than she could bear. She was ashamed to say this, but she ran.

Ran to Albus in fear of the Dragon her charge was changing into.

123

Harry watched Madam Pomfrey run, watched as her body stiffened, eyes widened, and skin paled. He'd seen it before, Dementors caused quite a similar reaction, as pure unadulterated fear spread across her features. Then she ran, ran away from the thing that scared her, towards something that made her feel safe. To Harry it was yet another wound to add to all he'd taken this year. Pomfrey wasn't quite a friend, she was his healer, the person who patched him up when he'd done something stupid. Yet there was trust, and fondness there. To see fear consume her, hurt almost as much as his realization of Hermione's fear. But before he could begin to sink into a depression at this recent turn of events, a voice broke through it all.

"WHAT WAS- HOW DID YOU DO THAT?!" Fleur's voice was the same melodic French accented voice she'd always had, yet to his ears her demand was a large chorus trying to deafen him in perfect harmony.

"Not so loud!" he growled back, his fires reacting to his ire and springing up around him as he glared at the blond woman, her pale features shrinking back in fright as his ire became apparent to her. He instantly regretted it,

'"Pardon moi," she said softly and shakily, he could see her features stiffen in fear as surely as it had consumed Pomfrey, her heart beating a frantic tune of distress. But it were her eyes that really made him feel like a heel, her soft blue eyes were looking at him as if she expected him to lash out at her, and they reminded him of Hermione. That same look had been worn by her all year.

"Just, just don't talk so loudly." He said miserably as the fires once more died out and he sank back onto the cot.

"Pardon, but what, what was that just now?" she spoke once more, her voice still feather soft and quivering with a tinge of fear.

"Fire, my fire." Harry answered calmly, knowing that was the clearest answer he could give her.

"Oui, but… how are you doing that?" she asked, confusion added into her voice along with her unease.

"I don't know, how do you make men drool like idiots?" Harry asked rhetorically, trying to get her to stop her line of question. After everything that happened he felt oddly weary, even if physically he felt he could run a marathon. Sadly for him, the French witch did not realize his desire.

"It is my Allure, my grandmother's gift." She spoke with assurance to the fact, her fear slowly draining away. Which honesty made Harry feel a bit better, and a bit more willing to continue the conversation.

"Okay, but how do you use your Allure?" He asked, honest curiosity driving his question. Fleur for her part just looked at him, an odd look of incomprehension upon her face. "What I mean is, what is it about your magic that lets you use the Allure? How do you produce it?" he tried to elaborate, hoping that with a decent answer, he could then make a fair analogy between her 'allure' and his flames.

"I simply… do? My Allure is a part of me, always there. I can suppress yes, but it shall not go away, it'll be here, just underneath the skin. Waiting to be used, it is that what you mean?" She asked, understanding starting to come to her she placed her hand over her heart.

"Maybe, it's probably very different. My fires are here," Harry touched his chest, feeling out the physical representation of the center of his being, it was actually close to that same spot Fleur had placed her own hand. "They're just waiting for me to use them. But when I call them, I know exactly what I'm doing, the best way to utilize them." He explained as he conjured up a small ball of flame, letting it dance in his hand.

"… I have never seen anyone else other than a Veela, or someone with Veela blood use fire like that, might one of you parent have been such?" Her voice completely calm now, the fear gone, but hesitation still remained.

"No." Harry responded instantly, his head shaking from side to side in a negative answer along with his words. "Mom was muggle-born, and dad was a dr-" Harry actually had to stop himself there, realizing how ridiculous he would have sounded if he had actually finished that sentence. He actually had to laugh aloud at that, which only served to confuse the quarter-veela before him.

"Qu'est-ce?" she asked in confusion, her voice slightly louder than the soft pitch she had been keeping it, but he found himself growing used to it.

"Sorry, I almost said something ridiculous." He admitted merrily, causing her head to tilt in a silent question. "This'll sound stupid, but I almost said that dad was a dragon." He laughed, causing the young woman to do the same. If anything her bell like laughs caused yet more mirth in him, he would have laughed longer, if for the sudden thought that hit him.

_'Why would that be stupid, what else would Igneel be other than a Dragon?'_ His mind asked unbidden, once more using that same name and attaching it to the role of father.

_'But my dad's name was James Potter, and he was a wizard!'_ He silently argued back against the illogical question that his mind just conjured up. All the while his sudden cessation of laughter confusing Fleur.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"I'm honestly not sure, it's-"whatever Harry was about to say, what he wanted to say, about how his mind seemed to be playing the strangest tricks on him. Yet before he could voice his own confusion, another voice interjected, and this one had obviously not been briefed on how sensitive his ear where right now,

"HARRY MY BOY, ARE YOU ALL RIGHT!?" Came the booming and concerned voice of Albus Dumbledore, once again causing Harry to wince in pain. Which was compounded with the fact that those following him also spoke at the same time.

"HE LOOKS FINE ALBUS, I AM MORE CURIOUS OVER HIS PERFORMANCE OUT THERE. SLAYING A DRAGON WITH HIS HANDS! OF ALL THE WONDERS I'VE SEEN!" Bagman spoke, his voice compounding with Dumbledore's as he gazed at Harry, a look of triumph and curiosity worn on his face.

**"INDEED, WE ALL SAW IT ALBUS, THAT MAGIC HE USED, It WAS A SIGHT I DOUBT ANY OF US HAVE EVER SEEN OR HEARD OF BEFORE. NOTHING LIKE IT EXISTS IN THE OLD TEXTS. EVEN THOSE WITH VEELA HERITAGE COULDN'T MATCH HIS MASTERY OF FIRE, HIS… MAGIC WAS TOO STRONG TO BE NORMAL. JUST WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN TEACHING HIM?"** If anything, Madam Maxine's voice was the worst of it, she already had higher lung capacity due to her build, and thus her voice had a tendency to project, Harry had noticed this even before his hearing had become so sensitive, now it was like icepicks in his skull.

"SHE ASKES A FAIR QUESTION ALBUS, JUST WHAT DID POTTER-" Krakoff had started speaking then, however the most surprising person cut him off before he could continue.

**"SILENCE!"** Fluer shouted, an actual shout that hurt Harry's ears more than anything else at that point had, yet the blissful quiet that followed her outburst was heavenly to his ear. At least until Krakoff tried to reprimand her for what he perceived as rudeness

**"HOW DARE YOU-"**

"His ears headmasters, they're more sensitive than most right now, to him it would almost be as if you're shouting directly into his ear, probably louder." Oddly enough it was not Fleur who spoke up in his defense, rather it was Krakoff's own protégé, Victor Krum. His voice soft enough to avoid harm to Harry's ears, but stern enough to draw attention to the fact that Harry was indeed wincing with pain.

"Harry, is that true?" Dumbledore's voice was soft now, blessedly normal to Harry's abused ears, and still the elder's voice rang with concern, Harry for his part could only nod his head slightly, his head still ringing from the constant assault from the multiple voices that had been only just now stopped booming.

"He also claims to be have a heightened sense of smell at least that was the conclusion I drew from what he told the healer." Krum continued, his tone cordial and informative. Yet Harry wasn't sure why he sensed a hint of malicious curiosity from the young man's words. It almost reminded him of Gajeel, before the stick was pulled out of his ass.

_'Wait, who the hell is Gajeel?'_ However before Harry could further contemplate the name that brought with it the feelings of metal, rival, and dragon, another voice interjected.

"SUCH THINGS DO NOT MATTER, WHAT DOES MATTER WAS POTTER'S DISPLAY OUT THERE. WE MUST ASSERTAIN WHAT HE DID. WELL POTTER, OUT WITH IT! WHAT DID YOU DO OUT THERE BOY?" Crouch spoke now, ignoring the pain he caused to Harry with his every word, favoring an accusatory tone that spoke volumes to just what conclusions he'd already drawn about Harry's new found abilities.

"I- I'm-" Harry had meant to say that he wasn't quite sure what it was he'd done. Yet two things stopped his answer. The first was a vague notion that he really did know just what it was he'd done, yet somehow lacked the words to properly express it.

"Really Crouch, you almost sound as if you're accusing Harry of Dark Magic." The second was Dumbledore, his voice soft yet it still rang with an authoritative reprimand towards the former Head of the DMLE. Crouch for his part seemed flustered, yet he pushed on with his belief.

"I HATE TO BE THE ONE TO SAY IT ALBUS, BUT YOU CAN'T DENY THAT WHAT HE DID OUT THERE WAS NOT NORMAL. THAT… THING HE CONJURED WHEN HE ROARED. HELL THE FACT THAT HE EVEN COULD ROAR. THEN THERE WERE THE FIRES HE UTILZED TO RIP THROUGH THE DRAGON. WHEN YOU ADD IN HIS PURE STRENGTH, IF NOT DARK MAGIC THAN WHAT ELSE COULD POSSIBLY EXPLAIN ANY OF THIS? Crouch responded, his words grating on Harry's already frayed nerves. Pain wracking through his head like a lance as the accusation hit him like a metaphorical gut punch.

His fires a dark magic? Never! While it was true that his fires could cause large scale destruction, so could a lot of other magic, like Make magic, Titan magic, and Celestial Body magic. It was all in how the user chose to use the magic, but to so dismissively call the gift Igneel had given him Dark galled Harry immensely. His anger cutting through the obscuring darkness that had blocked him before, revealing to Harry the answer to the question asked of him. With utter certainty he named the magic taught to him, the greatest gift his father had ever granted him. The magic that he had used to climb to the height of strength. The sword he had wielded against his enemies, and the shield his Nakama had taken refuge behind. The Lost Magic to take the power of a Dragon, and make it his own.

"It's called the _Ka no Metsuryū Mahō._" Harry spoke with such certainty, that it wasn't until he had the attention of all five judges that he realized the path his thoughts had moved down. The words and names that meant so much to him, yet at the same time dreadfully confused him. Yet before he could collapse into confusion about the certainty he felt, what each of those names meant. Dumbledore was there, a question posed to him.

"And what Harry, is the _Ka no Metsuryū Mahō?_" His headmaster asked slowly, and once more the answer was instantly on his tongue, even though Harry consciously had no idea what was being said. Some part of him, the part that had seen him through so many battles alive and willing to fight again, spoke for him. He let it, for it spoke with an authority that Harry had never thought to possess in matters of magic.

"It's a Lost Magic sir." Harry responded, the surety of his response drawing a profound shock from those around him, some might even claim that he'd caused outright fear from four of the judges before him. Bagman still wore his clueless face, far more concerned with something else entirely. Krum was still weighing him carefully, a foe he had not yet overcome. Fleur however, wore a look of honest curiosity, no plans or fear. She simply had a desire to discover the answer to the puzzle presented to her.

"Pardon? But what is lost magic?" Fleur's question even reflected this. All that was conveyed by her question was confusion.

"… Lost Magic, is just that Miss. Delacour, magic that has been lost, or rather, magic that has been forgotten. The methods of its use as naught but speculation. It was said that the true abilities of anyone who could use such power… it is said that one could destroy entire nations with such power. Harry… how did you learn such a power?" Dumbledore asked, his tone soft, but the implications behind it were vast.

Harry for his part… could still not bring himself to care. The implications despite how vast they were, meant nothing to him. Nothing compared to the profound completeness he felt now that his flames existed within him. Harry had never felt more whole, more complete, more sure than he did at that moment. The power that dwelt within him was the missing half of his being, and with its presence, came a surety he had never before felt. He knew exactly why he could use his power, and he felt no qualms with letting the whole world know. After all, it had been far too long since the world had seen his like. So he answered Dumbledore, with no hesitation.

"That's simple. Because I am The Fire Dragon."


End file.
